


Aftermath

by sierralie



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Cutting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierralie/pseuds/sierralie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke struggles with her anger and feelings of betrayal after the events in Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

Smoke rose from the wet wood as Anders ignited it, days of rain soaked into the piled-up logs so that even mage-fire struggled to make it burn. A draft sent the smoke gusting directly into Hawke's face, and she launched herself up from the rock she'd found to sit on, coughing violently to clear her lungs. She flung her cup aside and stalked out to stand in the clearer air at the cave's entrance.

Anders cast a quick eye over the fire to make sure the wood had caught this time before he followed her, stopping a step or two shy of her turned back.

"Are.. you okay?" His face twisted in frustration at the clumsy words even as he spoke.

Silence. Still her back remained to him, her arms crossed tight across her chest.

He grimaced and took a breath, his lips parted as if to speak, but instead his head bowed and he turned to move back to the fire-pit.

"Why? Why did you have to do it?" The sound of her voice, taut and angry, stopped him before he could take a second step. He stood there, frozen in place, his shoulders hunched miserably.

He forced himself to turn toward her. "We've talked about that. I've explained. I had no choice - I couldn't leave the mages trapped that way, at Meredith's mercy. I had to do something. Justice -"

She cut him off as soon as that word, that name came from his lips. "Stop making excuses! That wasn't justice. Justice can't be that one-sided, that oblivious to both sides of the fight. You didn't care what happened to anyone else as long as you could make your big stand, stick it to the templars after all these years. Don't lie to me and say this was ever going to make anything better for the mages."

He clenched his fists at his sides, bristling at the accusations. "That's not true. That's not how it was. You were there! You saw what she was doing. You supported me!" His throat caught at the end, his voice taking on a wounded tone. "You ran with me."

She turned to face him then, her body rigid with anger. "Yes, I did. I ran with you, after I betrayed everything I knew was right, turned my back on the people who'd fought at my side - at your side - all these years. I thought I loved you so much that I couldn't let you go, couldn't face a life that didn't have you in it."

Anders flinched from the fury in Hawke's words, stricken. The hurt her words inflicted put him on the defensive, and he flung his retort back at her, wanting to wound, to find words that would cut her as deeply as she'd slashed at him.

"You should have stuck the knife in my back when I gave you the chance. Don't fault me for your weakness."

He did start to walk away from her then, but she came after him, closing the distance between them before he had time to register how near she was.

She struck him across one cheek with the back of her hand, vicious in her rage."Don't you ever say that to me again, Anders. Ever."

He stumbled back, seeing spots flicker before his eyes, his cheek stinging. Dazed, he could feel Justice stirring, the spirit forcing up to the surface, felt the surge of power in him as the spots were replaced by a familiar icy blue haze, magic gathering to lash out in self-defense.

"No." She spat out that one word, weapon-sharp, seeing the change come into him. She pushed him, hard enough to jar any focus he or that cursed spirit might have had, knocking him against the cold stone wall. She felt his head hit the rock, and he crumpled to the ground, unresisting.

"Hawke.." He slurred the word, trying and failing to lift his head to look up at her.

Her fingers fisted into his clothes - those black robes he'd first started to wear when he started to lie to her - and she dragged him through the dirt and gravel, further into the cave to where they'd set up their little camp, the wood now crackling and alight with fire. He struggled to sit upright, to free himself from her grasp, but she pushed him down, one hand pressed firmly against his chest, sitting astride his hips to pin him down.

"Your life was a gift." Her free hand took hold of the chain that held his feather-covered pauldrons in place, snapping it with a jerk of her wrist. "I let you live." She reached back, pulling her boot knife free, and set the blade beneath the first of the straps that belted his robes together. "I let an apostate live." Smoothly, she cut the strap, then the next. "I let a murderer live."

Anders stared up at her, too stunned to struggle, his thoughts and vision still hazy from the blow to his head. "Hawke.. love.. please." He felt the chill of the air through the thinner tunic beneath his outer robes, and the sudden sense of vulnerability made his throat close in fear. Bring on the darkspawn, any battle where he could wield his magic unrestrained and he knew he'd be as brave as any man, but this..

She hissed at him, slicing a small hole in the tunic with the tip of the knife and rending the cloth asunder with her hands, exposing his pale skin. "Don't call me that."

He tried to struggle beneath her weight, to displace her so that he could get away from her and the blade in her hand and the disgust in her eyes. Any calm acceptance he'd had that day in the Gallows, ready for her knife in his back, ready to martyr himself for what he'd done - gone, all gone. He tried again to rally the focus to lash out at her with magic.

She slapped him across the face again. "You will not cast your spells against me." She pressed the knife's point just below his collarbone, drawing a gasp from his lips, jabbing it a little harder until she saw his slow nod of acquiescence.

"I gave up everything to follow you, Anders." She slid the knife's edge lightly along his skin, the point coming to rest against the centre of his chest, the blade perfectly vertical, her hand poised on the hilt ready to push it down. "Everything."

He looked up at her, still struck by how lovely she was to him, the firelight on her skin reminding him of the first time he'd gone to her in love, the first night they'd shared. He struggled to speak, his voice heavy with emotion. "I warned you. I tried so hard to warn you. I told you I'd break your heart. I told you I wasn't strong enough to stay away from you."

She stared into his eyes, but no hint of recollection or affection softened her expression. "You weren't strong enough to love me. Love isn't lies."

As her words faded, she changed her grasp on the knife, using the well-sharpened tip to slice an agonizingly slow line across his chest, just deep enough to bring drops of crimson blood springing to the surface. Anders let out a low cry of pain, a shudder passing through his body as she cut him, and he turned his face away, breathing hard. "Hurt me, then. For the hurt I gave you."

"Where is your wit now, mage? Your clever words, your banter - has it failed you at last?" She lifted the knife, the flat of the blade stroking against his cheek, leaving a tiny trail of blood behind. He flinched away from the cold steel, and she made a sound of satisfaction nearly a growl, primal and hungry as it was.

Anders' voice lowered to barely a whisper, and he grimaced, body trembling violently beneath her. "You know me too well, Hawke."

Something in his tone gave her pause, and she grasped his jaw roughly, forcing his face to turn up toward hers again. She stared into his haunted eyes for a long moment, holding his head securely even when he tried to pull away, seeing the colour start to rise in his cheeks.

She said nothing for a long moment, and then set the knife aside. Her fingers brushed over the wound she'd made along his chest, and without warning she pushed down hard, gouging her fingertips against him, forcing the shallow cut open again. Anders' cry of pain brought a hiss of satisfaction from her lips.

"So, there was something else you'd kept from me after all."

He groaned, trying to twist away from her, pressing his lips together tightly to conceal the sound of his ragged breathing and suppress the moan that threatened to escape from his throat. He looked up at her in desperation, not trusting himself to speak.

Hawke stood then, grasping the collar of his slashed-open robes to drag him awkwardly onto his knees. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "I know you well enough to know when you're aroused. Tell me - why now?"

He shuddered, a quick involuntary motion, his face tilted upward with a pleading look in his eyes. "Please.. please, don't do this." His fingers clutched at the sides of his robe as if seeking a way to keep himself in control.

She struck him again across the face, hard enough to make the mage sway on his knees despite her tight grip on his collar. "Tell me."

Silence. As she raised her hand again, he blurted out just one word. "Pain." She only watched him, and he continued, nearly stammering out the words. "I meant it, Hawke. Hurt me. I.. need it." He almost managed to grin. "Call it an aftereffect of being hauled back to the Tower in chains all those times."

Without hesitation, her knee drove into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. She pulled him back up by the collar with one hand, using the other to punch ruthlessly at his already-bruised chest, her years of fighting giving her a keen sense of how to inflict the worst hurt, where to strike. Anders let out a low cry, his hands moving to defend himself despite his desire.

Hawke smirked at him, catching his wrists in her hands and forcing them behind his head. "No wonder the templars caught you so many times." She tugged free the leather thong that kept his hair in the little ponytail he favoured, using it to bind his wrists together. "You don't even fight back."

He snarled at her, angry now, struggling to loose his wrists, twisting his body back and forth trying to get at her. The knots held tight, and in the midst of his furious struggles, she buried her knee into his ribs again. Anders groaned in pain, sank down onto the ground as he tried to catch a full breath. He forced the grin back onto his lips, to taunt her. "The templars.. were better at this than you."

She laughed, mirthless and menacing, and pushed him roughly onto the ground, the knife back in her hand, slicing at the tatters of his robes to leave him even more exposed to her. She pressed the blade back to his chest, bringing fresh drops of blood wherever that edge strayed. Her other hand stroked down, further, further, until her fingers found the proof of his arousal. His moan echoed from the stone walls around them. "Did they take advantage of.. this?" She closed her hand, putting pressure on delicate, tender places that made him gasp with more fear than her violence had. "Or did you only dream that they had? Captured and chained by a group of strong men - and entirely helpless?"

Anders struggled hard then, his wrists pulling at the leather despite the painfully awkward way his arms were pinioned, oblivious to the way it cut into his skin. When her fingers tightened their grip between his splayed legs, he froze, breathing hard, looking up at her with a stricken expression. "I.. that's not fair. Don't ask me that."

She released her hold on him and stood, looking down on him with anger in her face again. "No more lies, Anders. No more secrets."

He turned his face away, his body utterly still. He spoke so quietly she could only just catch the single word. "Yes."

"Good boy." Her words came tinged with mockery - but even so, Anders made a small quiet sound, nearly a sob, as if clinging to any hint of approval.

Silence, long silence, as she stood above the mage motionless on the ground. Without a word, she stripped off her clothing, setting aside the few pieces of armour she was in the habit of leaving on even in camp. He turned to look up at her, alerted by the familiar sounds of her disrobing. "Hawke..? Are you..?" Tentative, unsure words.

She kept her stony silence as she pushed him onto his stomach, baring his back, the knife back in her hand again. He cried out, caught unaware by the sudden sharp pain as she pressed the keen edge into his flesh, slow agonizing lines that seemed to cut into him again and again. Finally, the knife was drawn away, and Hawke pressed the slashed piece of his robes to his skin to catch the blood she'd spilled, guiding him to lay on his back again. Dazed, painfully aroused, Anders looked up at her just as her lips brushed against his ear.

"My mark. My claim."

With that, she mounted him, taking him into her, every motion pressing his bloodied back down against the hard earth, the cloth of his robes giving him no shield against that searing pain. Her body surrounded him tightly, slick and hot and passionate, moving above him rhythmically, her cries of pleasure filling his ears. He arched beneath her, aching to touch her yet thwarted by his bound wrists, feeling as if he couldn't possibly last so much as another moment with the way her hips rose and fell against his.

As he began to speak, to tell her he was at the moment of climax, she reached down and pressed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. His muffled moans grew more and more desperate, eyes wide and staring up at her, his body trembling violently with need, until she spoke.

"Now."

He cried out against her fingers in the ecstasy of release even as he felt her tighten around him, felt her body convulse with pleasure, her unrestrained sounds of delight one of the most beautiful things he'd ever heard.

She lay down against him, breathing hard, reaching up to release his hands while murmuring quiet words, her eyes already closing in exhaustion. "I can't forgive what you did, not yet - maybe not for a long time. But.. I was right. I can't let you go. I won't."

Anders wrapped his arms gently around her, holding her close while she rested in half-sleep against him, this woman who was his whole world, everything he needed. The pain of her mark etched into his back faded slowly to a glow that warmed his still-trembling body. In time, he slept too, tears streaking his cheeks.


End file.
